Growing up with Asperger's syndrome,
by Larry Arnold part III
A time of transition
It was a difficult time for me,
after university moving in back home, where my
failure to gain a degree did not sit well with my
father. My parents marriage had reached a low ebb
at this time, and I just got in the way. My
brother by this time had gone away to university
himself to disappear from Coventry for some years.
There was a constant barrage from my dad to do
something useful and get a job.
It was not easy of
course but I did manage to get something which
surprised him as much as it surprised me, because
although he would taunt me it took the wind out
of his sails when I managed to do something
because he never really expected I would. It was
not much of a job though. It involved going
around various houses pretending to carry out a
survey, but diverting the conversation into the
benefits of life assurance, coupled to an
investment plan. It was a learnt script really.
I
did not have the confidence to carry it out well
and I felt it was dishonest, but it gave me a
wage for a while. I think the company policy was
to take on as many new people as possible, throw
them out into the arena and see which ones would
make good sales people in the end, and expect the
majority to drop out after a short while. Those
who did well could expect to make a huge
commission. I dropped out, never having sold a
single policy. After that the only work I could
find was a few temporary jobs, which did not
amount to much.
I still went up to
the University in the meantime. As much to get
away from home as for anything else. The job
involved evening work mainly because that was
when most people were in. I was still allowed to
write for the Students newspaper even though I
was no longer a student. I found a way to write
for the Students newspaper even though I was no
longer a student. They put in an article saying I
had died in a motor accident and they had
discovered posthumous material they wanted to
publish as a tribute. A bit silly really as
everybody could see I was still walking around
and not a ghost!
I did a sort of
parody of star wars with well known people on
campus as the characters, all done in a Hitch
Hikers Guide to the Galaxy type of humour. I am
not sure whether this even pre dates Douglas
Adams.
Musical
Talent
- I also found ways to put my new found musical
talent to use, following in my dads footsteps and
performing at folk clubs. This was a strange
thing to do for someone with as little confidence
as me, but I used to dissociate from the
performance and play as if it were not me, doing
it watching my fingers as they made these sounds
on the flutes and whistle. I also sang, as I
enjoy singing, and joining in choruses in an
uninhibited way. Whenever I go to church I do not
hold back in the hymn singing like most people
seem to do, I bellow for all I am worth. My music
actually got a little write up in the local folk
magazine where I was called a talented multi
instrumentalist. Multi instrumentalist was a sort
of catch phrase for anyone who had more than one
instrument.
I had built up quite a collection of
whistles, oriental bamboo flutes of all sizes and
a fife. (sounds like another obsession to me).
Whenever I do anything I don't do it by half.
Anyway, I was invited to be part of the band for
a group of Morris Men locally. This was fun,
although I suppose to some people we looked
rather silly all dressed up. We went around all
sorts of places and folk festivals. We also drank
a lot of beer. If you think Rugby clubs can drink,
you should see what Morris Men can put away.
Unfortunately I was eventually asked to leave the
Morris Side after I made some social faux pax and
upset the landlord of the pub where we practised.
To this day I don't know what I was supposed to
have done, but that is an occupational hazard of
life with me, poor social skills and too much
beer are not a good combination. I just don't
understand other people most of the time (or all
of the people some of the time).
Family
disintegration - Family life got worse, and I
worse forced to leave home. I was given an
ultimatum and a week to move out. I could so
easily have ended up on the streets at this point,
like so many other young people nowadays, but I
got lucky and the Council offered me a place, on
one of the worst estates in Coventry mind you,
but beggars can't be chosers. I would not have
managed if it had not been for my mother, who
took time off to come up and do things for me
like cooking, and cleaning and helping out with
money. Later on I was to pay her back in other
ways, with interest.
The year is now
1980 and that is significant. I made some
attempts to better myself and improve my chances
of finding work.
I tried to enrol
on various courses, but I always failed the pre
entry tests because of my poor numeracy, but I
did eventually get on one non exam course
designed for unemployed people to give them and
idea of industrial and clerical procedures and
that was at Tile Hill College. It brought me back
into contact with people again as by now living
on the other side of town from where I was
brought up, I had lost contact with just about
everybody I ever knew and was on my own again. It
did not lead to work.
A
prophecy - On Good Friday in 1980 in the
early hours of the morning, that is well before
dawn, I had what I can only describe as a psychic
experience, particularly in the light
of what happened afterward. I was looking out
across my darkened kitchen toward the BBC radio
transmitters at Rugby which were then visible
from my window as lights in the dark, when I
perceived a particularly bright flash of light.
Now to be fair I do suffer from visual
disturbances which do include random flashes of
light, but normally I pay them no heed, but
somehow a message was conveyed into my mind, that
a year to the day, something very good was going
to happen. The message was not conveyed in verbal
form, but in concept in a way I cannot really
describe.
I spontaneously
recorded the event in a poem, which had no
particularly meaning other than being fine
sounding words, but has borne a particular
interpretation since in the light of everything
that happened to me. This experience was so real
that I did not fear to tell anyone about it, in a
totally convinced manner that something was to
happen on that day a year hence. This is what is
remarkable, because on good Friday in 1981 an
event happened that led to circumstances which
changed my life entirely.
More
background -
my mother who had not been well for a long time,
became diagnosed with Rheumatoid arthritis. I
remember her tears as she came home from the
doctors that day. I had arranged to be at the
family home as she needed someone for support. My
dad as I said before had a personality disorder
of some kind, and he had a particular outlook on
life that was not real. He had an idea of family
life which seemed to come more from story books
than the real world. Perhaps because he had such
a confused upbringing himself he idealised family
life to be something it wasn't which was why I
and my brother were such disappointments to him
and had to leave home.
My dad could not really cope with
the concept of disability, in a world where he
wanted a perfect wifeand perfect children. That
conflict often led to terrific violence. On more
than one occasion my dad smashed the house up in
frustration. That was what led to his various
stays in mental hospitals. The worst of it for
him was that he took it out on his most prized
possesions, his collection of vintage Jazz 78's,
his prized guitars which were worth a lot of
money, and worst of all his wife whom he
genuinely loved. Naturally there came a time when
she could not cope with that and a disability and
had to leave him although he could never
understand why till his dying day. My mother was
a remarkably tolerant woman, and gave back more
than she ever took from society. My brother who
had by this time dropped out of University and
returned to Coventry to live in digs,and I
alternatively put her up. The rest of the time
she spent in a battered wives refuge where she
became a counsellor for other women in her
situation. On good Friday 1981 she received the
keys to her own flat and moved in. From that time
forth my life changed to, as roles changed and I
became her carer. The prediction was true. for
her and for me. How my life was changed I will
relate in the next section
Here
is the Poem (Good Friday 1980)
Tongue-twisted,
torn out at the
roots of Rugby's tall red radio tower.
It winked across a darkened kitchen
To tell a tale or visit of a vision.
Strange track crucifixion, shock to Zion,
And night is now, if out there is Gethsemane
Tekel Upharsin
I will
elaborate the poem which is expressed in
religious terms and all a bit stream of
consciousness.
Tongue twisted = the unspeakable nature of
the experience.
Radio towers = the scene I was looking out
over at the time.
Strange track, = the path I am to take.
Gethsemane = the fact that I felt I were
myself in the Garden of Gethsemane facing a
bitter cup that I could pass up or drink,
whilst all the disciples were sleeping at
that hour.
Tekel Upharsin is a a coining from the "mane"
syllable in Gethsemane referring to the
proverbial writing on the wall at Belshazzars
feast - "mene mene tekel upharsin",
commonly translated as I have been weighed in
the balance and found wanting, or in this
case a message to me "now is the
time to stand up and be counted".
For more
poetry follow
this link.
|